Imprisoned
by angel-lover elysian
Summary: She is his prisoner, his plaything. She is paying for all his pain...
1. Chapter 1

**Okay. This is my first shot at a POTO fic. It'll be mainly based on the movie, but with some Leroux elements. And I don't expect everyone to like this, as it is an O.C, but I don't know if it will actually have fluff yet. Depends on what you guys say. If it even slightly sparks your interest, please leave a review. It would make me so very happy!**

**Well, here we go…**

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In the stagnant darkness he lay, clawing at the earth, racking sobs possessing his body. He could hear them, all of them, taking his Paradise.

Let them. The Angel was gone…

All the fierceness had left with her. The humanity, the last element of him that could be called Man, compressed in that white, soft hand that she'd given to another.

Temptress. Siren. Calling him to doom.

"Christine…"

Just speaking her name was enough to make him burn. If only she had scorned him, lashed at him with those hidden claws. If only he could hate her…

"_Christine!"_

He was a child, a wailing babe, cloaked in inky blackness, spiralling in his own sorrow. He forgot the cold ground beneath him, the icy sweat running down his head, his neck. Like that cool finger tracing it's way over his skin with a pitying sigh. Her touch, that last, lingering look. Was it for him, that song, as she gazed upon him so softly?

Shrinking away, melting into the tunnel with that _fop!_

"CHRISTINE!"

Let them find him. Nothing else mattered anymore…


	2. Chapter 2

**Way hey! Reviews already! Mishka does the happy dance Thanks a lot to all my readers.**

**Okay, the more I think about this, the less I want to write fluff. But if people want fluff, let me know.**

**Anyhoo, another chapter. Here we go…**

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White hot embers spiralled downwards as the mod ransacked the Opera Ghost's lair. One small figure watched with a mixture of relish and sympathy as two stagehands tore down a crimson velvet hanging, casting it into the dirt. They scuffed at it with their boots, and one of them spat on it. The watcher spun away, backing into the lake to take it all in. pure carnage had erupted. A few police officers were trying to quell the anarchy, but the men and women of the Opera had waited years for their revenge. Christine Daae had finally given them a window to it.

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. She had joined the throng, taking up a length of wood from the carpentry as her weapon. But now, she felt sort of hollow. Christine was not here, and all these fine things were being destroyed.

"What if he's killed her?" she wondered aloud. She saw Meg Giry emerge from one of the many hidden alcoves, down the stone staircase, and gasped at the white porcelain mask she held between trembling fingers.

Suddenly, a young, ginger moustached policeman sloshed into the lair from one of the adjoining catacombs, crying;

"We have them! Mademoiselle Daae and the Vicomte, we have them outside! They are safe!" A sort of ram shackled cheer worked its way around the mob, and a Constable raised his arm, clutching a pistol.

"Enough! We shall leave this place now, before it burns to the ground! The brute is most likely dead, if the Mademoiselle is free!"

Fearful of the consequences if they defied him, the people began to disperse, being ushered into the tunnel towards the safety of outside. The observing girl began to join them, but then paused. It just didn't seem right.

She pushed her way back down the passage, discarding her weapon, and waded her way into the lair once more, feeling faintly sick at the site of the damage. She was a person who prided herself on being able to appreciate beauty, and this place was surely drenched with it once. Perhaps she could salvage some of it.

She set to work, righting the felled candelabras, rolling up the fabrics that had been torn to the ground, trying to ignore the absurdity of what she was doing. She noticed that the embers had turned to ash, and was just wiping a few grey curls off a dresser littered with mementos, when she noticed a pile of drawings. Picking them up, she flicked through them. Christine Daae smiling, Christine weeping, Christine weeping, Christine dancing, Christine sleeping, Christine, Christine, Christine…

"Salope!"

The mutter was all the warning she had before she was seized by the hair and slammed against the wall.

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**So, what do we think? Hope this is pretty cliffhangery. I like cliffhangers…**

**Salope is bitch in French, BTW**


	3. Chapter 3

**Aw, I am sooooooooooooo happy! I have so many lovely reviews already! Thank you to all my marvellous readers! You make me so happy!**

**Okay, just for confirmation, this is mad loopy, scary Erik for now. May be fluffy Erik later. We shall see…**

**Now on with the show…**

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Bone crushing force swelled upon the girl's fragile frame. She was thrown heavily onto the stone wall, and as she turned to defend herself, a clawed hand rushed at her throat, pinning her in place. She tried to cream, but all that escaped her was a strangled groan. Clutching wildly at the hand of her attacker, she tried to pull it off, but to no avail.

Erik leered in at his victim with a sneer. She stared at him with desperate cobalt eyes, that filled with terrified tears as he hissed at her;

"You are trespassing."

"Please!" she choked. "Don't, _please_!" He gazed at her levelly with a cold malice, increasing the pressure on her windpipe.

"Why? Go on, redeem yourself."

"I didn't- I…" It was as though she was caught in a vice. Smothering walls seemed to push in on all sides, and she was growing dizzy from the lack of oxygen, her head too heavy for her head. What cruel fate was this, that her last sight would be that face? Such a face, that was broken before it was even made.

With the last of the strength that she could muster, she spat;

"Demon!" and her eyes drooped…

Suddenly, she felt herself slip through the fingers that had captured her, and landed with a _smack_ on the damp stone floor. She gasped in lungfuls of cold, resurrecting air, pushing herself up on aching arms, trembling all over. Risking a petrified glance up through her wayward black hair, she saw the Opera Ghost reclining in his throne, regarding her with a venom so intense it made her feel nauseous. She scrambled to get up, but he leant forward, staring her down.

"Sit, you little viper!" Furious that she was obeying, she sank to her knees.

"What do you want with me?" she asked defiantly.

"Your name, for now."

"Angelique Brouille." It seemed as though the words were torn from her mouth. She didn't want to answer him, didn't want to give him any power.

"Stand."

_Commands again? Curse him!_

"STAND!" Shocked into submission by the roar, she struggled to her feet, swaying slightly.

"How old are you?" he said, returning to that dangerous, quiet voice again.

"Nineteen," Angelique answered fearfully. He shook his head.

"Older he muttered."

_Older? Older than who? Older than Christine?_

"Please," she begged, "I have a family. My mother and sister, they-"

"Silence!" He closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. Angelique saw this as her chance. She was not going to die down here, damn it!

She bolted for the lake, splashing into the water, but had barely got eight feet before she felt a powerful pair of arms seize her around the waist, dragging her back.

"No! Get off me, you brute!"

At the shore she felt herself forced to the ground yet again, a painful weight on her left leg as the man knelt behind her, trapping her calf firmly under his knee. He held her chin roughly, forcing her head back so he could whisper in her ear;

"If I let you go now, you'd turn me in. that just won't do."

"What are you going to do to me?" Angelique whimpered.

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**Hee hee, cliffhangery goodness! Well, what do you think, guys?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Woohoo, an update! Sorry this took so long, I've been a very busy bunny at college, what with falling behind due to plays and things. But I am now back from my hiatus! Expect regular updates, folks! And thanks for all the reviews!**

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Erik took Angelique's arms roughly, dragging her to her feet. He pulled her over to the throne, forcing her down next to it, and seized the Punjab Lasso, then sat in the chair.

"Your hands," he barked. Angelique raised her arms obediently, fighting the urge to cry.

"Please don't do this," she said in a last ditch attempt to beg her freedom. Her captor didn't even meet her eyes, but crossed her hands over each other, wrapping them in a figure of eight a few times, then tying a heavy knot. He then took the loose end and pulled her over to the organ, which had thankfully survived his domain's persecution. He lashed the rope around one of the instrument's legs, and let the slack fall to the ground with a lazy hand.

Angelique winced at the bonds digging into her skin.

"Why are you doing this to me?" He didn't answer. "Why!"

"You were prying into my possessions."

"Is that all? Is that why you're doing this!"

"Would you rather die?" he roared.

"No!" Angelique cowered at his feet. Her captor turned his back on her, and said;

"It would be easier for you if you didn't defy me."

"You're mad!"

"No," he said, turning to her again, eyes chilling her to the bone. "It is the world that is mad, I am simply its victim."

Angelique met his gaze and retorted,

"Really?"

The man suddenly lunged at her, kneeling before her, snapping her head back by her hair.

"Stop!" she cried.

"Your kind! You're nothing but a pack of harpies! Judge, jury, executioner, all of you!"

"Please stop!" The man loosened his grip, ad pressed his forehead against Angelique's.

"You should learn to choose your words more carefully," he growled. He released her, and she fell forwards onto her hands.

"Can I at least have the name of my prison keeper?" she said out of sheer defiance. The man turned his back on her as he replied quietly;

"You may call me Erik."

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**Dun dun dun! Okay, I've decided that for this fic Erik will be mad, crazy, vengeful, Erik. BUT, there will be a fluffy sequel, if people would like… Let me know! And the next chapter will be longer, folks!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey everybody! Thanks for all the lovely reviews! I can't believe how sweet people are. I'd just like to assure everyone that this will not be a Mary-Sue at any stage. Thank Gawd… **

**Anyway, I hope that people would like this chapter. I love any kind of reviews or destructive criticism, so review away!**

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It seemed like hours had passed. Maybe they had. It was impossible to tell in this world of unending night. She hadn't slept, even when Erik had retired for rest. Her eyes were bloodshot from the strain of keeping them open. She was frightened of what lay beyond the shadows, in the darkness that was keeping her imprisoned. A tear slipped down her cheek. She would never see daylight again…

Angelique pulled at her bonds with her teeth, but the knot was so tight it seemed to be melded together. She dropped her hands into her lap, choking a stifled sob. She was still dressed in her red dress from Don Juan, and it was soaking up the moisture from the damp air. Her feet were aching in her tight _pointes_. She felt dirty, cold and, claustrophobic.

"Don't give up," she muttered to herself. She forced herself to her feet, using the organ to steady herself, then wandered towards the lake, dragging her rope carefully behind her. As she began to paddle into the water, she got as far as her shins before the rope went taut. That gave her about twenty foot of moving room, easily enough to traverse the whole of Erik's dungeon.

"Going somewhere?"

Angelique jumped at the sound of Erik's voice, and turned slowly to face him. A grim smirk spread across his face as her eyes widened in shock. He stepped towards her, and she strained against the rope as he approached her.

"No," she said in an almost whisper. Her throat was dry from dehydration, her voice cracking.

Erik took hold of the top of her arms firmly, steering her towards the shore. He let her fall limply beside the organ, and she rested her head upon it.

"My feet hurt," she muttered. She wanted to be an annoyance to him in every way possible. He knelt down, seizing one of her ankles.

"Ow!" she cried, pouting at him like a child. He disregarded her and pulled off her shoe.

"A ballet brat," he said. It wasn't a question. "Are you good?"

Angelique shook her head.

"Not very," she whispered.

"No" Erik agreed, "you're too small." He pulled off her other shoe, and threw them to one side.

"That's not my fault!" she said indignantly.

"I never said it was," he growled. She pulled herself away from him across the dusty floor, eyes fixed upon him. He walked over to her and stooped down, catching her ankles roughly and straddling her. She wriggled under him, tears welling up quickly in her eyes. He leant in to her, until his nose almost touched hers. She trembled from head to toe.

"Child!" he hissed. The word seemed to bite her. She struggled to breathe under his weight.

"Get off me!" she screamed, digging her hands into his shoulders. Her pulled her off by her wrists, pinning them down.

"I could kill you right now!" he said.

"Why don't you, then? End both our suffering!" Angelique squeezed her eyes shut. She could feel Erik's breath, hot on her skin.

"I am the Angel of Music, not the Angel of Death." A plague of frost seemed to encase her heart as he spoke the last word.

"Go on, coward! Just do it!"

"Don't tempt me!" he shouted. Angelique jumped, shock inducing more tears.

"Please, get off me," she begged, "you're hurting me." Erik stared down at her for a long moment, a whimpering, dirty creature. He got off of her, jarring one of her ribs as he did so. She squealed, curling into a ball with the pain.

"Thank you," she whispered as she cried. He started to walk away, but then stopped, took a cloth from his pocket, and threw it to the floor beside her. Angelique stared at it for a moment, then seized it and wiped her face. She then pressed the damp material to her parched lips, giving herself momentary relief from her thirst.

"Oh, God…" she moaned. She hurt so much, and she was so very tired. But she couldn't sleep, she daren't! She sighed, rocking back and forth, forcing herself awake.

"Don't you dare," she muttered to herself. Erik watched from his throne as the rocking became slower, smaller, until finally her eyes drooped, and she slumped heavily against the organ.

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**Well, what do we think? Be honest. I'm a bit worried Angelique was too weepy in this chapter….**


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